


Finding True North

by ArchangelUnmei



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Colonization, F/M, Religious Conflict, canadian history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4340918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelUnmei/pseuds/ArchangelUnmei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's funny how one small moment can change the course of your life. A birth, a death, a meeting... In the wilds of the New World, a solitary fur trapper meets the fiercely independent wife of a ship's captain, and both their lives are thrown off course forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding True North

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [FrUK Loving You Through Time](http://frukheaven.tumblr.com/tagged/FrUkLovingYouThroughTime) event, hosted on the FrUK Heaven tumblr. Of course it's not necessary to read any of the others, but they're all really good and you should give them a look anyway.
> 
> Most of the names are self-explanatory but:
> 
> Arthur Kirkland - England  
> Marie-Annette Bonnefoy - Female France  
> Jean-Louis Bonnefoy - Male Jeanne d'Arc  
> William de Vries - Netherlands
> 
> The Protestant branch that Marie-Annette and Jean-Louis belong to is today known as the Huguenots. However, at the time that was considered a derogatory term, which is why I avoid using it in the text itself. Likewise, the island they settle on is what is today Nova Scotia.
> 
> The setting is circa 1620, with a little artistic license.

Arthur Kirkland was a solitary creature by nature. Growing up in a household with three older brothers and two younger, as well as an older sister, was enough to drive anyone to solitude. He'd escaped the crowded house as soon as he was old enough to do so with his parents' blessing, taking a place as a cabin boy at the age of fifteen for a merchant ship that traveled along the coasts of Europe, north and south and east. Going to sea had been the best decision he ever made, and he took to it with a passion that had even the captain of the ship impressed. The salt smells, the fresh winds, the feeling of the rigging swaying under him, all of it was _new_ and invigorating. One night sitting up in the crow's nest under the light of a full moon, somewhere off the coast of Portugal, he quietly realized that he'd never be able to go back to slow, sheep-strewn rural England.

So when a year later there had been a call for settlers to cross the ocean, west to the New World colonies, Arthur had written a letter to his parents, thanked his captain for the opportunities, and signed on. 

And now, at nearly twenty-one, he found himself completely across the world, moving through the underbrush of a foreign land and loving it. It was so different than England, than anything Arthur had ever dreamed could exist. The plants were rough and hardy, more evergreens and thick, spiky grasses, the birds singing in the trees were all new and unfamiliar. The forests had a sense of... deep wildness what he'd never felt in England, the knowledge that at any given time he could be the only white man for a hundred leagues. 

The natives were all friendly enough, or at the least not overly hostile, especially once Arthur left the settled colonies on the coast to strike out inland, mapping terrain and trapping foxes and beavers for their fur. They were distrustful of the large, expanding, fortifying towns that were growing on the coast, but much more willing to deal with a single man alone once he'd proven himself trustworthy. 

Over the years Arthur had slowly worked his way north, coming across the large freshwater body that would eventually come to be called Lake Ontario and spending several months mapping the land around it. He enjoyed the solitude, the silence, the chance to be alone with his own thoughts. And if he ever felt lonely or in need of company, he knew he could stop at any of the local tribes to trade furs for a night's hospitality. 

He was a good Anglican, but he could see why the Protestants felt drawn to this new, untouched land. God's fingerprints were everywhere, the care He'd clearly taken in sculpting this beautiful land, all the creatures within it and even the people, with their strange, alien languages and their own reverence for the lands they found themselves in, even if it wasn't a Christian reverence. 

It was as close to paradise as he could find on earth. 

This summer, he'd worked his way back east, though farther north than he'd ever been before. He found himself longing for the fresh wind and salt spray of the ocean again, so he'd decided to make a proper map of the northern coast, the great river that brought ships inland to the lakes, and the hundreds of tiny islands that dissolved away from the mainland. The area had some French settlements, but like the natives, they generally left one lone Englishman alone. What harm could he do? 

In fact, Arthur had heard there were settlements on a large island just northeast of the newly settled Dutch colonies that he traded for supplies with from time to time. His contact with the Dutch, a trade administrator named William de Vries, had told him the island had been settled by French _Protestants_ fleeing persecution in France. They were quite friendly to the Dutch and English they traded with, because they were being ignored (at best) by their countrymen further inland. 

French Protestants. This was something Arthur had to see. 

And so, since he'd been planning to head in that direction anyway, he bid farewell to William and set off, following the coastline north. He'd crossed onto the oblong island at its southwestern tip, and immediately started to see signs of habitation; land cleared and planted, small green shoots poking up through the clean dirt and bordered by sturdy split rail fences, traps set in the forest for rabbits and other game. 

He realized, suddenly, that he hadn't exactly made a plan for how he was going to approach the French. Pointing and laughing was probably not a good strategy, especially if they did turn out to be good Protestant people. Perhaps he could offer to serve as a messenger in his travels, or join any hunting parties that might go out soon. 

As he walked along, sticking to the forest paths for now, the decision was made for him. 

He heard the splashing and laughter just in time to not blunder headlong into disaster. Instead he quickly crouched, peering through the foliage. 

Just ahead, the stream he'd been half following ran through a small depressed clearing, which created a natural shallow pool. The settlers had enlarged and deepened it, replacing the rocky bottom with smoother stones that wouldn't cut their feet, creating a pool deep enough for washing and bathing. 

And it was occupied. 

There were three women, two older and one younger, and a small herd of girls ranging in age from toddlers to the oldest who looked about ten. At least as far as Arthur could tell as he frantically tried to avert his gaze. All of them were naked, the women clearly there to make sure the children got clean, but taking the opportunity to wash and cool off in the heat of the day themselves before they turned to the baskets of washing they’d brought with them. 

The two older women, while lovely in their own way, were about Arthur's _mother's_ age, and the blush he could feel on his face was only deepening by the second. He knew he should move back, look away, but somehow he couldn't. 

Somehow, he could only remember a time back in England, when he'd been very small and his eldest brother had thought it was funny to take him out into the woods behind the pasture and leave him there, lost and crying. As the sun set and he sat crying, there was a rustling sound he could have sworn was cloth, and through his tears he glimpsed a pair of beautiful women in long, ancient gowns, raspberry and gold-embroidered-blue, too perfectly dyed to be made by mortal hands, their hair so long (honey and dark) it trailed the forest floor behind them as they walked. They'd looked over at Arthur and smiled, sharp green eyes and warming blue, and even as a child he’d been struck by such a sense of peace and _familiarity_. He'd blinked and rubbed at his eyes, and when he looked again they were gone. His father found him very shortly after that, and didn't believe his claims of beautiful women. In time, as he grew, Arthur became convinced that he'd caught a glimpse of a pair of Fae. 

Somehow, he was having the same sort of surreal feeling now, especially as his gaze fell on the younger of the women, the one who looked only a little older than him. She was beautiful, graceful as she helped one of the younger girls wash her hair, her own long brown-blond curls piled on top of her head. Her body was lovely enough to make Arthur's mouth go dry and his trousers uncomfortably tight, her skin smooth and glistening and her breasts still round and perky with youth. But his gaze kept being drawn back to her face, to her eyes framed by long lashes, her pointed chin and high cheekbones. Her jaw had a firm set, something about her speaking of a great strength of character. Were there Fae in the New World? 

The girl said something to her, and she laughed, a bright sound that seemed to fill the entire clearing. She answered, and Arthur had to bite his tongue on a sudden, inexplicable rush of disappointment. 

They weren't Fae, they were French. 

Abruptly, Arthur realized the position he was in, and what these women - not to mention their husbands and fathers - might do if they realized a solitary Englishman was watching them bathe. He blushed scarlet, quickly trying to duck a bit further into the thick bushes without making too much noise. He didn't know how he'd managed to get so close without alerting them in the first place, so now he just hunkered down and closed his eyes, listening to the splashing and laughter, the friendly chatter between the women as they washed the laundry they’d brought with them and the children played. 

(Having his eyes closed almost made it worse, because he couldn't help but remember the lovely curve of the younger woman's thighs, her round breasts and rosy pink - dammit, he was going to hell.) 

It seemed like a long while before the splashing subsided, and the women's words took on a more chiding tone, likely getting the children dried off and dressed and ready to go home. Arthur's French was middling at best, he was catching more from their tones of voice than he was from the words themselves. Soon there were the rustling sounds of the whole group of them leaving, luckily by a path on the opposite side of the clearing from where Arthur knelt, his feet falling asleep underneath him. He breathed a sigh of relief, daring to peek out into the clearing again. 

The younger woman was still there, standing by the head of the path with a basket of clean, damp laundry balanced against her hip. She was dressed now, in a long, plainly tailored dress, her hair bound up in a braid coiled around the back of her head. Though the lines of the dress were conservative, as befitting a married woman (dammit!), the colour was a bright, vibrant blue and the skirt and sleeves were trimmed in scraps of ribbon. She was looking around the clearing in bemusement, as though she sensed something a bit off, and Arthur froze again. 

But the spell was broken when one of the girls came running back down the path to grab her hand, calling in a sweet, piping voice- "Marie-Annette, Marie-Annette, _allons_!" Marie-Annette laughed, answering in a voice too soft for Arthur to hear and giving in to the child's pull, making her way down the path to home and leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts, his memories, and his uncomfortably tight trousers. 

It was several days before he worked up the courage to enter the town where the women had come from. It wasn't far from the bathing pool, just a short walk through the woods to afford whoever was bathing privacy without taking them so far away as to be dangerous. The settlement was small, more of a village than a town, really, but Arthur was surprised at how well it had been cultivated. In addition to the ordered fields he'd observed along the edges of the town, the buildings and paths were laid out neatly, giving way to the lay of the land but still showing order and planning. Most of the structures were wood, but well constructed, and one building in the center of town even had two stories and a stone foundation. 

As he walked down what seemed to be the main road into town, he got a few bemused and slightly wary stares before someone finally approached him to ask his business. Arthur was wearing his typical hunting gear, but had made sure to hang a rabbit pelt on the outside of his pack to advertise his status as a trader and trapper, and his gun was carried unloaded and at-ease over his shoulder. The last thing he needed was over-excited trouble from a whole town of probably decently armed Frenchmen. 

The man who finally approached him was taller than Arthur, probably about two decades older, with thick blond hair that was curling in the summer humidity and a neatly trimmed beard. He was wearing clothing typical of the other settlers, though Arthur's practiced eye caught the somewhat finer cloth it was made of and the quality of the stitching, and he tentatively pegged this man as one of the town leaders. He stopped as the man approached and took off his hat, offering a slight bow. The Frenchman at least seemed amused, coming to a stop as well to study Arthur with canny hazel eyes. 

Arthur decided to take initiative and show he was making an effort, straightening up and speaking in his limited French - "Bonjour, je m'appelle Arthur Kirkland. Je suis Anglais, et-" 

The Frenchman wrinkled his nose, but looked like he was trying not to laugh, rather than in sheer disgust. Arthur counted that a mark in his favour. He waved for Arthur to stop, speaking in accented but actually fairly good English. "Stop, stop, you are mangling our beloved language. You are very lost?" 

"Ah, no," Arthur was relieved to switch back to English, but tried not to let it show on his face. "I'm a cartographer and trapper by trade. I don't have too much on me at the moment; since I travel alone I tend to sell my cargoes fairly quickly, but I'm always willing to pitch in with hunting or fishing." 

The man nodded, looking thoughtful. "And in exchange, you would want...?" 

Arthur gave him a wry look. "A warm bed indoors and ready access to bathing, mostly." 

The Frenchman laughed, a surprisingly warm and mellow sound, and offered his hand to Arthur. "I think that can be arranged. I'm Jean-Louis Bonnefoy, but please call me Jean." 

Arthur relaxed and took his hand, grip firm. "Arthur," he repeated with a respectful nod. "Are you the leader here, then?" 

"Ah..." it was Jean's turn to look sheepish as he let go of Arthur's hand and turned to lead the way farther into the small town. "Not quite? Our town official is currently ill, and though we've been assured he'll recover, it's best to let him rest as much as possible. I was the captain of the ship that brought us here, so I suppose in the interim it was natural for everyone to look to me." 

Arthur watched his companion out of the corner of his eye, intrigued. "A ship captain choosing to settle here?" 

"It was time to settle somewhere, and here my wife and I are able to worship the Lord as we choose to." 

"Ah," Neither of them mentioned the systematic prosecution of Protestants that had been going on in France, but Jean nodded slightly to confirm Arthur’s thoughts in that direction. 

"And besides, this land is lovely. Hard at times, but challenge is part of life, no?" 

"That's pretty much why I'm here, yes," Arthur admitted. "I left England wanting adventure, and I've found it everywhere here." 

As they spoke, Jean lead him through the town, waving to the men and women who peered curiously out of their doorways at the stranger. He made his way to a beautifully crafted wooden house near the center of town, not far from the two-story building. He motioned for Arthur to continue following him as he opened the door. "Marie?" 

Luckily Jean was facing away from him, because the colour drained out of Arthur's face in shamed reaction. Firmly he tried to remind himself that Marie and variations thereof were _very_ fashionable as names right now; half the women in the village were probably named after the Virgin Mother in some fashion. But Arthur's luck was never that good to begin with, and when a warm voice called back and Jean led the way into the kitchen, it was to the sight of Marie-Annette at the stove, carefully tending a stew of some kind. Arthur stopped in the kitchen doorway, sheer willpower keeping him from exploding into a flush or fleeing. Neither of them seemed to notice, Jean crossing the kitchen to press a chaste kiss to his wife's (his _wife's_!) cheek. She gave a pleased hum, lips curling up in a warm smile before turning curious eyes to Arthur. "Bonjour," 

"A-ah," Arthur started slightly, and gave himself a firm shake. "Bonjour," 

Jean spoke to Marie-Annette in French for a few moments, and she laughed lightly, propping her spoon up against a nearby bowl where it wouldn't drip, and then turning enough to offer Arthur a graceful curtsy. "My English is bad, but welcome." 

Now Arthur did blush, but luckily his hosts seemed to excuse it, and he hastily bowed to the lady. Her hair was bound up again, as befitting a married woman, this time into an elaborate twist held in place with a comb. "I don't mean to impose, my lady," 

"Nonsense," Jean spoke up. "Our house actually has a guest room, one of the few in town that does. We play host to the native and Dutch traders when they come, why should an English be any different?" 

"Thank you," Arthur said sincerely, honestly touched by their generosity and willingness to lay aside whatever differences their people had, far away across the ocean. "I'll try not to be a bother." 

Jean flicked his fingers in a dismissive gesture, and Marie-Annette smiled, picking up her spoon again. "Dinner soon." 

"Oui, of course," Jean beamed happily, then reached out to clap a hand on Arthur's shoulder and steer him out of the kitchen. "I will show you to the guest room and you can unpack and wash a little before we eat." 

Dinner turned out to be a stew thick with chunks of goose and hardy vegetables (likely dried, but Arthur wasn't about to complain). He bowed his head when Jean said grace, and his hosts seemed to approve. They talked of Arthur's travels over dinner, and then he politely retired to his room and shut the door. He could hear them speaking French, but his skill was much too low and the voices much too muffled for him to make anything out, even if he'd wanted to. He slept well, just grateful for a warm bed out of the wind. 

He rose later than he meant to the next morning, the sun was already well up and there were chickens scratching around in the grass under his window and clucking quietly amongst themselves. He swore softly, since he'd intended to be up early enough to make a good impression by helping with morning chores. He rolled out of bed and dressed quickly. As he opened the door, he could hear the sounds of dishes clinking from the kitchen, so he hurried in that direction. 

As he'd half-guessed, Marie-Annette was standing by the wash basin, the sleeves of her dress carefully rolled back as she washed the dishes from breakfast. Her hair was down today, in a long plait down her back rather than coiled around her head, and Arthur thought it made her look younger (though she was probably only a little older than him to begin with). She was wearing an apron over her dress, white with curling flowered embroidery along the hem. Arthur wondered if she'd done it herself, remembered English winters as his mother sat and sewed beside the fire, his next-eldest brother teaching him to carve wood to pass the time during the long nights. The winters here in the New World were much more intense than the English ones, the French communities here might even get snowed in at times. 

When she heard him come in, Marie-Annette turned toward him and smiled, shaking him out of his thoughts. "Bonjour. I am sorry, Jean could not wait, there was business to see to. We wanted to let you sleep after your travels, but there is food here." She gestured to a covered dish set on the table, and Arthur smiled. 

"It's alright, I understand. Thank you." 

He went to investigate the plate, and to his delight found apple-filled pastries. They were cold, but Arthur didn't mind in the least. He hadn't had apples since last fall; he didn't have the means to carry much with him, and he had higher priorities to trade for than dried fruit. He sat, happily pulling the plate toward him and making a pleased noise as he bit into the moist, crumbling pastry. The apples were a bit tough after being dried all winter, but Arthur could hardly fault that. 

Marie-Annette glanced over at him and laughed warmly. "They are good?" 

Arthur nodded enthusiastically. "Very, thank you." 

"My mother taught me to make them when I was a girl," There was a note of sadness in her voice, detectable even through the thick tones of her accent, and Arthur couldn't help but give her a curious look. She must have caught it, because she offered another smile, this one slightly sadder. "My parents passed away in an accident just before we left France." 

Arthur hurriedly swallowed. "My sympathies." 

"Thank you." She offered him another soft smile, and to his horror Arthur felt his cheeks go hot. He quickly buried himself in the plate of pastries, and with another laugh she turned back to her washing. "Jean asked that once you were up, you go to find him. He'll introduce you around town and show you what can be done. You said you wanted to stay, non?" 

"For a week or two, if you'll have me." Arthur nodded. "I really like sleeping in a bed." 

"Of course, please stay as long as you like. No one is using the room, and I understand well the want of a bed. And a bath." 

They shared a look, both clearly thinking of the long ship ride over from Europe, and then burst out laughing. Arthur finished up the last of the pastry and stood, carrying the plate over to her so she could wash it while she was doing the others. He couldn't help but stick his thumb in his mouth to suck the last of the apple filling off of it, and as close as he was he could see Marie-Annette's eyes sparkle as she laughed again, gave him a canny sideways look. Her eyes were very blue, deep and clear like mountain lakes with the sun shining off them. Arthur had a sudden, vivid thought of taking her lovely face between his hands and kissing those eyelids. 

Quickly, he ducked his head and turned to go, hoping to hide another sudden blush, and he completely missed the long look she gave his retreating back. 

~*~ 

Marie-Annette had always been a bit of an odd girl. As a child, rather than sitting quietly and learning to embroider, or submit to endless lessons on cookery and penmanship, she much preferred to sneak out to the stables, learning from the stable boys how to care for the horses. She was continuously asking "Why?", about everything from how the rain fell and how birds knew how to fly to why not all families had lovely homes like they did, why there were raggedy children selling wilted flowers on the streets, until finally her parents gave her access to any book she could desire, just to quiet her for a time. As she entered her teenage years, her interests turned to young men and the knowledge and pleasures they could bring, and no amount of her mother's Catholic shaming could sway her. 

In the end, it was probably a relief to her parents when she settled down with a respectable ship's captain, even if he was decades her senior and even if she insisted on accompanying him on voyages near and far, rather than sitting home alone as a dutiful wife should. Even if his religion was not theirs. 

That had been the deciding factor in accepting Jean's proposal, actually. All her life, her parents had been good Catholics, taking her to church on Sundays, and it had seemed so... cold. God had always seemed so far away. She loved the splendor of the natural world, the rainstorms and the seashore and the woods outside of the city; she felt God there, but not in the cold stone churches with the uncomfortable benches, choked with incense and perfumed bodies. When she met Jean, he had shown her an entirely new world, a new way of seeking God, being close to Him personally instead of a distant connection through a far-off priest and Pope. 

Jean had taken her one cool spring night to a friend's house at the edge of the city, where a small group of them gathered together and prayed directly to the Father, and Marie-Annette felt Him touch her heart as she'd never felt before. 

They had to stay secret, of course. The King was Catholic, and already even then he was not taking a kind view to the Calvinist movement growing among his people. Already he was taking steps to stop it, to wipe it away, and the hungry machine of the Roman church only urged him on. When Jean was approached about taking a group of Protestants away from persecution, to a place they would be safe, he readily agreed, if only because he had many friends among their number. At first he thought they meant to go to take sanctuary in the British Isles, or perhaps farther north. 

But they were planning to go much farther, away across the sea to the New World, where they could worship as they chose and the King and Church could never reach them. 

"Let's go with them," It was Marie-Annette's idea, originally, laying a hand on Jean's arm. "Not just to ferry them. Let's stay. We can make whatever life we want." 

He had taken a little convincing, but once he saw the beauty of the New World, saw how enamored Marie-Annette was with this new life of adventure free from the obligations of being a lady in France, he agreed. 

And so they stayed. 

They built a town for themselves, made it through their first winter largely due to the kindness of the native Micmac peoples, welcomed more people fleeing the escalating persecution at home. The British and Dutch traders in the area didn't care about their religious beliefs and were happy to do business with them, helping to keep the tiny colony afloat through hardship and shortage. In their third summer in the New World, just as they were starting to stabilize and reliably produce crops and wool and milk, Arthur arrived. 

And suddenly, as happy, as content as she was with Jean, Marie-Annette felt like a girl again. It wasn't that Arthur was handsome, (the eyebrows alone precluded that, though he had lovely eyes, bright as spring leaves) or that he was kind. He had a charm to him, stammering through his limited French and blushing whenever she tried to meet his eyes. At first she thought it was because he was a good Christian man and she, a married woman, and indeed it was probably partially that. But the more she watched him, the more she came to the conclusion that Arthur was _shy_. Even around Jean he was slightly stiff, trying hard to be proper and not offend his hosts. 

Not even aware of it, Marie-Annette thought he was amusing, endearing, adorable. 

~*~ 

"Bonjour!" 

Arthur jerked at the sudden, wholly unexpected voice, nearly tumbling from his perch on the rocky outcropping. He flailed, somehow managing to keep both his balance and his gun, and wheeled around to glare at whoever had startled him. 

It was Marie-Annette, standing on the path that ran through the woods about ten yards behind him, looking amused and carrying a basket over one arm. "Jean said you left without lunch, so I thought to bring you some." 

Arthur scowled, but his stomach chose that moment to snarl and a glance upward revealed the sun shining at a wide angle through the leafy trees; well past noon. He sighed, easing up from where he'd been crouched watching for deer to come to the little sheltered stream below. In the week since he'd arrived, the people of the town had embraced him heartily. He'd already been able to teach the men a much more effective way to snare rabbits and pheasants, and he'd gone with a hunting party to the mainland that had managed to bring back two of the giant gibbering turkey birds that turned out to be pretty tasty. This morning, a herd of deer had been spotted moving through the area, so he and some of the other men had spread out to find quiet hunting spots and see if they could take one, for the sturdy and needed hide as much as the meat. 

"...Thank you," he offered grudgingly, stepping back away from the edge and making his way through the underbrush toward Marie-Annette. She smiled at his thanks, but when Arthur pulled the cloth cover away from the basket he saw two portions of folded meat dumplings and a sachet of berries far too big for one person. He must have made some sort of weird expression, because Marie-Annette laughed and led the way over to a nearby rock jutting up out of the ground that would make a convenient bench. She set the basket down, gesturing for Arthur to join her. 

"I wanted to hear about your travels, if you don't mind," she said, head tilting a bit girlishly. The sunlight peeking through the leaves glinted off her hair, and Arthur was reminded suddenly again of a wild, beautiful Fae. "My parents thought I was far too young to be married and leave home, but you are even younger, I think." 

"Just twenty," Arthur said off-handedly, taking a seat on the rock and leaning his gun carefully against it before investigating the basket. "And there isn't much to tell. My family is large, and I'm the middle child. Father's a merchant, so it wasn't like he needed me to help run a farm or anything, and if I'd stayed I would have suffocated." 

"A big family," Marie-Annette sounded wistful, picking up the sachet of berries herself and popping one into her mouth. "You should appreciate that. I wished so hard for siblings when I was younger, someone to play with and confide in..." 

Arthur snorted inelegantly. "It must be different for girls. All my brothers and I ever did was fight." 

She looked at him thoughtfully. "Maybe, but did they ever let anyone else pick on their little brother?" 

"....No," Arthur scowled again, busying himself with his long overdue lunch. "Not that it made _their_ torment any easier to bare." 

"Mm," Marie-Annette looked out into the woods, and for a few minutes they sat in companionable silence, listening to the birdsong and the breeze rustling through the tree leaves. "It's so beautiful here. I'm so happy Jean let me come." 

Arthur gave her a sideways look out of the corner of his eye. "It can be dangerous here too. On the mainland there are wolves, and great big cats and bears, and not all of the native people are friendly to us." 

She huffed. "I know that, I'm not a child. I just believe it is worth the risk, to live in a place so full of God's beauty. He made the wolves and the bears and the native peoples too, you know." 

"That won't stop a bear from eating you," 

Marie-Annette rolled her eyes, a surprisingly inelegant gesture. "You sound like Jean! It's not as though I'm going to go running about in the woods on my own." 

"Good," Arthur was quiet a moment. "Though I can't imagine you sitting at home somewhere in France, waiting quietly for your husband to return to you." 

She laughed, a warm, bright sound, and dared reach over to put her hand briefly on Arthur's arm, call his gaze back to her own sparkling, mischievous one. "Of course not. If Jean had left me behind, I would have called for a divorce. Or perhaps snuck aboard another ship to chase him down and make him let me join him." 

Arthur felt his face grow hot, but he smiled. Marie-Annette was shockingly forward, almost scandalously independent, but then again, maybe that was exactly what was needed to be successful in the New World. God knows all of the proper fainting ladies of Europe would have been useless here, and there weren't resources to spare to care for useless people. 

"I think I might have given a lot to be able to see that, then." 

She grinned, brushing a few crumbs off her skirt and standing to gather the basket. Then she paused, looking thoughtful. "...Before you leave, would you teach me the proper way to skin a rabbit?" 

Arthur blinked, honestly startled even though he'd just been thinking about how strong and independent she was. "What?" 

"You're not going to be around for long, and I want to be able to do it for myself rather than relying on the hunters. Sometimes they destroy the hide in the process of getting the meat, and rabbit fur would be good for so many things. Cloaks for the children alone..." 

"I'd be honored," he paused, wondering if he should tack on 'as long as your husband approves', and then decided against it. He doubted Jean would actually mind, and Marie-Annette did not seem like the type who would take kindly to that kind of comment. "There's still a few hours of good hunting light left, but this evening after dinner I'll show you a few tricks." 

She beamed, offering him an almost playful little curtsy, a curl coming loose from her bun to fall along her cheek. "Merci." 

Arthur felt his face heating up again, and quickly grabbed his gun to return to his perch. "D-de rien." 

~*~ 

Soon, Marie-Annette proved herself to be not only fiercely independent, but also fiercely _annoying_. 

The first time Arthur entered their house through the kitchen door, Marie-Annette was standing at the counter, knife in hand as she prepared dinner. She wheeled around so fast at Arthur’s entrance, brandishing the knife at him, that for a heart-stopping moment he was sure that back doors were some sacred French thing he didn’t know about and he was about to be skewered. 

“ _You_ ,” Marie-Annette’s nose was crinkled up in a frown, eyes narrowed. “Have you ever cooked beaver?” 

Arthur gave her a blank look, carefully shuffling back a step from the knife and trying to be unobtrusive about it, just in case she took offense. “Of course I have. I don’t like it as much as rabbit, but the fur is much more valuable to learning to live with eating it is sort of a necessity.” 

Marie-Annette huffed, but finally lowered the knife to set it on the cutting block with the vegetables she was preparing. “No matter what I try, it never comes out right. I know we shouldn’t waste any food we have, but… Stupid overweight buck-toothed-“ 

“Is it the taste that’s wrong?” Arthur interrupted, stepping closer now that there wasn’t such imminent danger. “Or does it burn…?” 

“Mostly the taste,” Marie-Annette admitted with a sigh. “And it always comes out tough. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” 

“It could be the castor…” Arthur mused, and continued at her curious look. “Beavers have a strong scent gland, just like other mammals. If whoever skins it isn’t careful, the oil will get onto their knife and ruin the rest of the meat. I can show you how to avoid that, if you’d like.” 

Some of the annoyance cleared from Marie-Annette’s face. “That would be wonderful, merci. In the meantime, would you check what I have and show me how you usually cook it?” 

“Of course,” Arthur felt a little flattered, turning to wash his hands in the basin of water Marie-Annette had drawn from the well. 

He needn’t have bothered. 

When Jean returned home just before sunset, there was a smoky smell hanging in the air, and his wife and guest were shouting at each other. Eyes wide in concern, he burst into the kitchen to find them _almost_ at each other’s throats, the front of Marie-Annette’s apron covered in soot and ash and Arthur’s eyebrows and fringe heat-scorched. An unidentifiable lump of charcoal was sitting in a pan on the stove, perched atop what might have once been a few potatoes. 

“What in the world…?” 

Both of them turned to him, and Jean took an involuntary step back when faced with both pairs of piercing eyes. They both began talking at once, overlapping “The beaver-“ with “He _said_ -“ and “ _Typical English cooking_.” 

And immediately Jean was the last thing on either of their minds, rounding on each other once again. 

“You _can’t blame me_ ,” Arthur snarled, scorched but still impressive brows lowering in a dark thundercloud of an expression. “I’m used to cooking over an open fire, I haven’t used a stove in years!” 

“Then you might have _said something_ ,” Marie-Annette shot back, her voice gone a little shrill in anger as she flapped her sooty apron at him, like he was a chicken she was trying to shoo back into the garden. “Instead of strutting around like a confident _chanticleer_ , sure you were going to make the most delicious beaver in the world!” Jean looked back and forth between them as Arthur sputtered indignantly, a bit bemused and his concern fading. He was reminded very strongly of some of the village children squabbling, rather than the normal bickering of two adults. He stayed to supervise, just in case, but wisely he stayed out of the way and just let their anger run its course. 

~*~ 

Arthur stayed at the small colony for another three weeks as the weather grew hot and muggy. He came to know many of the colonists, not just Marie-Annette and Jean, and he grew to like them very much despite their innate _Frenchiness_. (But then again, he was far from a typical Englishman, as Marie-Annette had become very fond of pointing out.) 

But finally, the woods further inland were calling to him, and he announced that he should be on his way. 

"But," he told Jean, late the night before he was set to leave, "Winter inland is impossible to survive on your own, I always make my way back to the coast once it starts threatening snow. In years past I've wintered with the Dutch colony a bit further south from here, but if you want my help this year...." 

"We would welcome it," Jean smiled, truly grateful. "Another pair of hands is always needed." 

Arthur nodded, his expression easing into something that might be called a smile of his own. "Then I'll be back by first snow." 

He spent the rest of the summer and fall running his usual routes, collecting beaver and rabbit pelts, trading the meat for other food and things he needed. (And if he found a necklace made of blue beads and shells and traded three pelts for it... He immediately stuffed it into the bottom of his bag, stomach churning in sudden guilt. Marie-Annette was another man's wife, even if the blue and cream would look so marvelous against her blue eyes and dark gold hair and scandalously sun-kissed skin.) He filled in the map he kept as he went, finding new bends in the rivers carved out by spring storms, new ponds formed by industrious beavers. 

But when the weather began to cool and the leaves began to redden, he turned east again. He stopped first at William's, trading the bulk of his furs for things the French colony would need more; cloth and nails and a few child-sized pairs of shoes. He thought hard about trading away the necklace still sitting at the bottom of his bag, but finally decided against it. Maybe he could give it to one of the little girls. 

Not much had changed in the months he'd been away. A new barn was in the process of being built, racing to be finished before winter really set in, and Arthur immediately set aside his traps to help. Even Marie-Annette and some of the other women (all of them were strong, Arthur was noticing, not just in body but in spirit and soul) were doing all they could, carrying boards and running baskets of pegs and nails between the various workmen. 

They managed to finish just in time; the week after they finished putting the roof on the barn, it began to snow. 

~*~ 

"What are you doing?" 

Arthur looked up from the shaft of wood he was whittling down to appropriate thickness. He'd chosen to do his carving in the barn both to take advantage of the heat from the sheep and horses, and also so the wood shavings could just be mixed in with the straw instead of having to be swept up and cleaned. The snow outside was falling more quickly than it was when he'd come in, Marie-Annette was wearing a heavy wool cloak over her dress and rabbit-lined boots. 

Arthur glanced down at the pile of shafts and the bag of goose feathers beside him. "Ah, bullets are expensive, and I won't be able to get down to the Dutch trading post as often once the snow is thick, so the last time I was there I got myself a bow. Arrows are easy enough to make on my own, so that's what I'm doing." 

She looked thoughtful, padding over to crouch down beside him and peer at what he was doing. "If you'd like help binding the feathers onto the shafts, some of the other women and I can probably help you." 

Arthur was surprised for a moment, then realized he shouldn't be. Everyone pitched in when there was work they could do, to do otherwise could mean vital tasks went undone. "That would be a big help, actually. I'll show you how to bind the arrowheads on too, if you'd like." 

"And how to shoot?" The look Marie-Annette gave him from under her eyelashes was warm and sly, something that made Arthur's stomach flutter in odd ways, blood flooding his face as he tried to answer and only stammered, making her smile even slier. 

"I think," he finally managed, clearing his throat pointedly. "That's probably something you should ask of your husband." 

He emphasized the words just slightly, just enough that Marie-Annette blinked, her smile disappearing as she seemed to come back to herself. She stood, brushing straw off the hem of her dress. "Mm. Dinner will be ready soon, and the snow is getting deeper. Best come inside soon." As she turned away, the edge of her wool cloak swirled out, brushing along Arthur's arm like a caress and carrying with it the fresh scent of lavender and sage. He shivered, looking up at her instinctively, and he thought he saw a ghost of that sly smile as she moved away from him. 

Then again, maybe it was just the wind as she opened the doors to step outside into the snow. 

~*~ 

After long weeks of thought, he gave the necklace to Jean. 

He told him the truth, that he'd seen it and thought of Marie-Annette. But he didn't say that the native woman who made it had offered it to him as a gift for his 'sweetheart', or that he'd seriously considered giving it to Marie-Annette himself. He suggested instead that Jean give it to her as a Christmas present, and he'd seemed to be thrilled with the idea. He offered to pay Arthur for it, but Arthur refused. 

When Christmas morning dawned clear and cold, Arthur made sure to make himself scarce. He spent the day with some of the other young, single men, drinking to prosperity and health and good game and crops in the coming year. He only saw Marie-Annette and Jean from afar, when he and the rest of the town crowded into the small church for the Christmas services. Even the town elder was there, wrapped in a thick blanket with his doctor hovering by his side. Arthur thought he looked quite frail. 

(Marie-Annette was wearing the necklace, beaming like the sun itself whenever someone offered her a compliment. Arthur thought about teasing her about vanity, but in the end he saved his quips for another day and kept his distance. His stomach and heart were doing odd things again, seeing that the necklace suited her just as well as he'd thought it would.) 

As the new year dawned, word came from further up the island that another of the small French Protestant colonies scattered along its length was falling on hard times. A severe storm had torn apart several of their buildings, and they had the man power to repair it but not the materials. Jean's ship, the _North Wind_ , which he actually owned himself and sailed under neither king nor company, was still tethered just out to sea. Their town used it as a sort of floating storehouse, and they had stockpiled split lumber and logs since storms and animal damage to fences and barns were common. They had enough that Jean decided to take the ship up the coast to help their sister colony to rebuild. 

"It will only be a month or two," he promised, giving Marie-Annette a hug and a kiss to the forehead. "Less, if all they need from me is to off-load the timber. I'll be home soon." 

"Be safe," Marie-Annette murmured, giving him an extra little squeeze. "God be with you." 

"He always is." 

With Jean's departure, the tension in the house became almost unbearable. Arthur wondered if he was the only one who could feel it, because Marie-Annette continued on as normal, her steps airy and her mood light. Arthur felt the enormous weight of his attraction to her without the looming, unknowing deterrent of her husband, and the dark, gnawing guilt for thinking of another man's wife that way at all. 

Three days after Jean left, he could stand it no longer and asked Marie-Annette if maybe he should sleep in the barn until her husband returned. 

She stared at him as though he'd suddenly suggested that the sky was white with yellow spots, and then burst out laughing. The more she laughed, the redder Arthur could feel himself growing, fists slowly clenching at his sides. 

"You're a married woman," he tried to explain. "And with your husband away-" 

"You will stay right where you are," Marie-Annette finally managed through her laughter. "I will not have it said that I was such a terrible host that I turned you out into the cold." 

"The barn is perfectly fine," Arthur tried to insist. "It’s warm enough with the animals there. People will talk." 

"People will always _talk_ ," Marie-Annette flicked her fingers dismissively. "About whether hair should be worn up or down, or what colours are appropriate for a good Christian woman, or what work can and can't be done on a Sunday when all of it is _necessary_. None of that _matters_ here, Arthur, what does matter is between myself and God and no one else." 

"I... see," Arthur stopped, feeling his face heating in a blush. It always seemed to be doing that around Marie-Annette, but by God she was attractive, both physically and on an emotional level that Arthur had never even considered until now. She was such an adventurous spirit, so sharp and brave and proud, and yet kind. She was exactly the kind of woman that Arthur had never thought existed, exactly the kind of woman he suddenly wanted, and she could never be his. "Marianne-" 

The slurred-together, Anglicized nickname just slipped out, his tongue tied in knots over the look in Marie-Annette's eyes and the tangle of his own emotions. He bit down on his tongue as though that could draw the name back in, but Marie-Annette looked delighted at the slip. 

"Marianne," she mused, reaching out to run light fingers over Arthur's furiously blushing cheek, down the line of his throat to where his pulse beat strong and fast. "I like it. Very... English." 

Arthur swallowed, hard enough for Marie-Annette to feel it under her fingers. "We shouldn't," he tried weakly, but his traitorous hands were already taking the opportunity to meet at the small of her back and pull her a little closer, as he’d thought about often and dreamed about nearly every night since first meeting her, this beautiful creature just barely out of his reach. "Jean-" 

"Is not here," she finished for him, her other hand tangling in his hair, running a teasing fingertip down the nape of his neck and making him squirm at the slight tickle of it. "And doesn't the Son Himself say to love thy neighbor?" 

"I'm fairly sure He didn't mean like this," Arthur coughed, tried to get ahold of himself and pull away from her. "He also says 'thou shalt not commit adultery'." 

She caught at his arm to keep him in place, pouting prettily at him. "Let's stop quoting Scripture at each other, Arthur. Whatever happens is just between ourselves and God, and I cannot believe that any act of love is an act He would truly condemn." 

"Love?" Arthur looked back at her, eyes quite wide and mouth suddenly dry for entirely different reasons than a minute ago. The look Marie-Annette gave him was soft and warm, the fire light turning her skin rosy and her hair into molten brass. 

"I love Jean, and I always shall, but why must it be confined to him alone? When I was younger, I went out often with many boys, but Jean ensnared my heart with his kind nature, the way he cares for others. He is a good man, but in some ways I find he is too kind. He indulges me, lets me do as I wish. He is..." she grimaced a bit, but could find no better word. " _Fatherly_. I love him, and I know he loves me. We still lie together at night, and it is enjoyable for the both of us, but the _passion_ of man and wife left us long ago." 

Arthur thought if he blushed any harder he might actually explode, because he was actually well aware of that. He'd over heard them a time or two, during his time in their spare room. But he couldn't seem to find the will to speak, and it appeared Marie-Annette was not done yet. 

"But _you_ , Arthur, you are like a fox come among dogs, quick and cunning and handsome. You can be sharp and stubborn, but so can I, and I have found more joy in arguing with you than I ever have in discussing religion and poetry with Jean. You are a challenge, one I did not know I needed so badly until I found you." 

Arthur fidgeted, finally managing to tear his eyes away from her beautiful face, knowing he should still be trying to edge his way out of her arms. But it was so easy to let her convince him. "Your English has dramatically improved." 

She curled her fingers along his jaw, gently turned him back to look at her again, her expression smug and satisfied, aware that she'd won. "Merci, I've been practicing." 

Arthur refused to go to the marriage bed she'd shared with Jean, and the bed in his guest room was a bit too small for the activities Marie-Annette clearly had in mind. But there was a soft rug in front of the fire, woven together from scraps of fabric she and the other ladies of the town saved from their sewing and then reused. Arthur fetched a blanket from his bed to add to that while Marie-Annette put another log on the fire and prodded it up into greater warmth. 

Even so, the cooler air of the room and the wind howling outside prickled gooseflesh along Arthur's arms when Marie-Annette divested him of his shirt, and made equally quick and eager work of his trousers, staring at him like she was the fox and he a plump chicken. 

(Which led to the inevitable mental image of Jean holding an axe.) 

But those worries faded for the moment when Marie-Annette pulled the pins out of her hair, let the long braid tumble down her back. Arthur reached for it, ran his hands along the soft length and fingered the tie at the end, but she rolled her eyes and batted at his hands. 

" _Non_ ," she scolded him gently, holding her braid almost protectively. "Do you have any idea how tangled it would be come morning? It stays as it is, if you're so eager to see my hair down you can do it later, in the bath." 

(And _that_ just called up his memory of when he had seen her once before, naked in a different sort of bath. Nngk.) 

When she brought her hands up to begin unbuttoning the front of her dress, Arthur could only stare. He had no idea what he should be doing with himself, and honestly he had no idea what to expect; most of his experience with women had been quick and giggly and anonymous and half-drunk. Marie-Annette luckily seemed amused, deftly undoing the buttons to reveal a widening triangle of soft, pale skin. 

Underneath she was wearing just a simple shift that looked like it was patched together from the serviceable parts of worn bedsheets, a far cry from the frothy, complicated underskirts and corsets and endless layers of petticoats that were the fashion in Europe. Arthur found himself rather drawn to the simple thriftiness; nothing here could go to waste, because there was nothing to spare. It was a simple lesson that Marie-Annette had clearly taken to heart, but Arthur could think of dozens of people back home in England, most of his family included, who would have never learned to let go of their pride and wasted too much to survive. 

(His heart beat hard, perhaps this _was_ love?) 

Marie-Annette glanced up at him, her lashes lowered and gaze somewhere between shy and coquettish. "What are you looking at?" 

Arthur swallowed. (There was no going back.) "Just you." He reached out, took hold of the hem of her chemise, and tugged it up playfully. She laughed, shyness apparently forgotten, and pulled it off completely to join her dress draped over the back of a chair. 

Her body was even more beautiful than he remembered, lit this time with red-gold winter firelight rather than the kiss of summer sun. She was, perhaps, just a _touch_ thinner from the winter want that was inevitable, but Arthur was far from a good judge of such things and it wasn't noticeable enough to be concerning. Her breasts were still round and full, nipples puckering in the naked air, her hips and thighs strong with the muscle of work. He licked his lips, and when she settled on the rug in front of him, he reached out to grab her by the back of those thighs and pull her closer. 

She laughed, warm and delighted and a little husky, moving easily to him and wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts to his chest. Whatever expression was on his face must have been a wonderful one, because she only laughed harder and then smothered him in a hot, embracing kiss. He slid his arms around her waist to hold her closer, fingers tracing the dip at the small of her back, and could only offer a fleeting prayer that God forgive him somehow for this transgression. 

He was not very practiced in pleasing women, at least not slow and long as Marie-Annette seemed to prefer, but she was more than happy to show him. The snow outside ceased to exist beyond the heat of their entwined bodies, slick sweat easing the friction between them. 

At the height of his passion, flushed and panting and a little dizzy, Arthur pressed his lips to her ear and murmured " _Marianne_ ," and she gasped so sharply that for a fraction of a second he was afraid he had just made exactly the _wrong_ move. But then she was clinging to him harder than ever, her nails leaving stinging welts across his back and her thighs squeezing in tight against his hips. He was very glad of the snow storm and the howling wind, otherwise surely the noise they were both making would have drawn the neighbors. 

The fire had burned low, and chill and exhaustion caught up with them both at about the same time. Too tired to even try and build up the fire again, let alone draw water for a bath (which in winter involved gathering buckets of snow and waiting for it to melt), they rolled themselves together in the blanket to preserve heat and dropped off to sleep. 

That was how Arthur woke in the morning; sticky and groggy, with a lock of Marie-Annette's hair in his mouth and her cold nose pressed in against his collarbone. Thin winter sunlight was filtering in through the windows, he had a crick in his neck from sleeping on the floor with no pillow, and Marie-Annette was mumbling sleepily about wanting a _bath_ , Arthur, go find buckets. 

He'd slept a lot of places over the years. Sheep pastures, hammocks, piles of grain sacks on ships, barns, rocky forest floors. This was perhaps one of the more physically uncomfortable sleeps he'd ever had, with the stone edge of the fireplace digging into his back and Marie-Annette's sharp shoulder pressed against his ribs. 

But it was also one of the _happiest_ mornings he'd ever woken up to. 

~*~ 

Jean was away for six weeks. Arthur felt like he was dancing on sharp shells the entire time, caught in a frustrating pull between his overwhelming attraction to Marie-Annette ( _Marianne!_ ) and the over-cautious secrecy they had to maintain to keep anyone from catching wind of their affair. At least it was relatively easy to keep up a routine; with the snow on the ground everyone wanted to stay inside as much as possible, especially after dark. During the days Arthur would make the rounds of his traps and snares, skin the game he found and then go hunting or fishing to further supplement the town's stores. In the evenings, more often than not Marie-Annette would go to the house of one of the other women, taking embroidery or knitting with her so (Arthur gathered) the women could work communally while they gossiped by the fire. If anything convinced Arthur that he was going to hell, it was that most often the time they had together was Sunday nights, when everyone else in town was occupied with their own families. 

It wasn't _always_ sex. (Though that was passionate, boisterous, far more _energetic_ than Arthur had ever expected. Marie-Annette was a very engaged, pleasing bed-partner, she knew what she liked and wasn't shy about making sure Arthur knew it.) Arthur taught her several card games, and she taught him embroidery in return, almost as a joke until they both realized he was enjoying it. (No one would ever know that tiny Charlotte's spring dress that year had been embroidered by their gruff English winter-guest.) 

Arthur's guilt slowly faded, because it was so easy to see how happy Marie-Annette was, so easy to let himself be happy too, so easy to pretend, without even realizing he was, that this was his house and he the husband. 

He didn't even realize how dangerous that was, until he returned from checking his snares late one afternoon to find the entire town in jubilant uproar. Jean and the half-dozen men who'd gone with him had returned, unharmed and with news and gifts from their sister colony to the north. Arthur moved through the town almost unnoticed, until he caught sight of Jean and Marie-Annette, both beaming and laughing as he told her stories about his time away, his arm comfortably around his wife's waist and the blue-and-shell necklace gleaming around her throat. 

Arthur's breath caught on the sudden stabbing pain somewhere in his gut, and even though the snow was still thick on the ground, he knew it was time to leave. 

He managed to fake his way through dinner that evening, easy enough since Jean was still doing most of the talking. But once Marie-Annette rose to take care of the dishes and Jean turned his attention more directly on Arthur, Arthur took a deep breath. 

"I think it's about time for me to move on." 

Jean's noise of wordless surprise nearly covered the startled clatter as Marie-Annette fumbled a dish at the sink. She had her back to them and didn't turn, and Arthur kept his eyes fixed firmly on Jean as he spoke. "I've imposed on your hospitality too long as it is. I've gotten word from my Dutch contact further south, they've got a contract from a noble in Denmark wanting beaver and deerskin for boots, he's asked me to come help fill it right away." A lie through his teeth, another silent prayer for forgiveness. Jean didn't appear to notice, and only nodded, looking concerned. 

"Will you be able to travel in this weather?" 

Arthur shrugged, trying not to be so stiff (it didn't come naturally). "I have before. Under the trees the snow isn't so deep, if you know what you're doing it isn't difficult." 

"We're sorry to see you go," Jean sounded honestly regretful, unaware of how stiffly Marie-Annette was standing behind him. He reached across the table to clasp Arthur's hand, and the fresh wash of guilt reassured Arthur that this was the right thing to do. "I hope you'll come back around, at least with news if nothing else." 

"Of course," Arthur forced his lips to form the words, forced himself into a smile, then stood. "I can make the journey in a day, but only if I start early. I should go pack." 

"Oui, of course," Jean stood as well, clapping a hand on Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur fled the kitchen before Marie-Annette could turn around. 

He didn't expect to see her again, because if there was one thing Marie-Annette truly did love, it was sleep. Arthur had lost count of the mornings he'd woken up and been unable to move because she was laying half on top of him, her arms twined around him and clinging like some deep sea-creature, and she always whined and moaned like he was killing her if he tried to get her to move. 

(Ah, so those memories brought more stabbing pain to his heart now, good to know.) 

But when he rose early, dressed and put on his thick, oiled traveling cloak and slipped outside, Marie-Annette was standing in the pale morning light. He couldn't tell if she was actually dressed or not, but she'd put on her boots and was holding her cloak wrapped tightly to ward off the frigid morning. Arthur was surprised and a little impressed in spite of himself, stopped dead in the doorway for a moment before stepping out to meet her. "...Marianne..." 

He was a bit gratified to see her wince and bite her lip at the nickname, her pretty face twisted in sad pain. "Arthur, I'm sorry-" 

He shook his head, didn't dare touch her while they were standing outside like this, no matter how early in the morning it was. "I'm not. We did what we did, love, but now your husband's back and I... You were right, when you said Jean is a good man. I don't want to hurt him." 

"Neither do I," she sighed, a soft gust of warm mist. "...You will come back, won't you?" And even softer, her lips forming the words but only the puff of clouded breath giving tell that they were actually spoken, “Please come back.” 

"I will," he promised. "Maybe not _soon_ , but sometime this summer." 

She nodded. "Until this summer, then. God be with you." She moved past Arthur to go into the house, and just for a moment, when it was hidden between the edges of their cloaks, she grabbed his hand and gave it a sharp squeeze. Arthur closed his eyes and hung on as long as he dared, then let go and turned to watch her disappear back inside. 

"I hope He still is." 

~*~ 

He did go south, to William's post. The Dutchman was surprised to see him with so much snow still on the ground, but didn't ask too many questions. He'd always been good like that, it was one of the reasons Arthur liked him so well. William gave him a room for the remainder of the winter in his own quarters, and the two men passed the time telling stories and catching up (to a degree; Arthur didn't mention his affair, even though he considered William a friend. It was still a bit too raw). 

One of the things that did come up, because now Arthur was in the habit, was his sudden, unexpected skill in embroidery. 

"I can't believe this," William was grinning, a wide smile with wolfish undertones that made Arthur a little nervous for reasons he couldn't quite place. Perhaps just because it was so rare; he hadn't been aware William knew _how_ to smile, had only ever seen him barely smirk before, when a particularly lucrative deal went through or negotiations were swinging wildly in his favour. He leaned forward, watching as Arthur moved the needle through the cloth. 

Arthur coughed in embarrassment. "William, I've seen your flower gardens in the spring." 

He sat back in his chair, waving off Arthur's words like they were nothing more than annoying New World insects. "Right, I have no right to talk. Would you consider doing some pieces to sell, though, if you're going to be doing it anyway? I could act as your proxy, and you have no _idea_ what a price some nice embroidered bands can fetch back in Europe." 

(Neither man referred to the Old World as 'home' anymore, though Arthur knew that William had a sister he was trying to convince to cross the ocean to stay with him.) 

"I'll think about it," Arthur promised, bending his head back over his work. 

Once the weather warmed, he once again ventured west, continuing the mapping trip he'd started the year before. Between one thing and another, it was midsummer before he found time and reason to turn back east and return to the French colony. His longing for Marie-Annette had faded somewhat (not much), and he still considered Jean a good friend. He hoped that perhaps they could smooth things out and go back to the camaraderie they'd shared before the affair. Perhaps Marie-Annette would even tell him that it had all been just a silly phase which, while it would probably break his heart, was also probably objectively the best thing. 

(He was British, after all, he was used to being miserable.) 

When he stepped into town, he was greeted warmly, and it didn't take him long at all to hear the two biggest pieces of gossip that no one could wait to tell him. 

The spring damp had brought renewed sickness to the elderly town leader, and shortly after Arthur left he had passed away peacefully in his sleep. Which was sad, but not entirely unexpected, and the townsfolk had almost unanimously appointed Jean as their new leader, and he and Marie-Annette had moved into the larger, stone-based house. Arthur was less than surprised. 

The _other_ piece of news, however.... 

When Marie-Annette answered the door, Arthur suddenly couldn't swallow around the lump in his throat. He felt like his stomach had dropped to his toes, and for one _horrifying_ moment he wondered if he was going to faint like some delicate flower of a half-grown girl. He reached out one hand to grab the door frame and managed to steady himself, but he knew he must be white as a sheet. "Marianne..." 

Upon seeing him, Marie-Annette went a touch pale herself, then her cheeks turned very pink, and one hand came to rest without thought on the round swell of her belly. 

"You may as well come in," she said, stepping back so Arthur could enter. "Jean is away and shouldn't be back until tomorrow." She paused, closing the door behind him and then turning to lead the way to the kitchen at the back of the much larger house. "...He still does not know about...us." 

"Marianne, I-" Arthur swallowed, stumbling along behind her and feeling like a gawky colt as she calmly put a kettle on the stove for tea. "Is it- er..." 

Marie-Annette let out a sigh, then a little laugh, turning to face him again and somehow looking sad and happy all at once. "I've _missed_ you, Arthur. But..." another sigh and a slight shake of her head. "I truly do not know. The timing is about right for either of you to be the father." 

Arthur's stomach clenched, but he wasn't exactly surprised. If Arthur had been the only possible father than Jean would have obviously had some questions by now. "...What do we do now? Marianne, if the child is mine, I want to-" 

"We'll likely never know," Marie-Annette gave a slight shrug, turned away to attend to the tea. "You and Jean are both blond, fair, you have green eyes and he hazel. Unless the baby, God forbid, inherits your eyebrows..." 

"God forbid," Arthur repeated dryly, well used to the jabs. 

Marie-Annette's shoulders slumped, head bowing a little. "And what kind of life could you offer me, Arthur, let alone a baby? You are one trapper, constantly on the move and at times barely able to get by for yourself. This is a dangerous land, with bears and wolves and unfriendly natives, and how could you possibly ask anything of me when Jean has given me a home, a warm place to sleep and ample food and asked only my loyalty in return?" She sniffed, and to his horror Arthur watched a tear roll down her cheek. She swiped it away before he could even offer a handkerchief, her shoulders straightening from where they'd slumped. "Non, the baby is Jean's, regardless. You may visit, it would be utmost cruelty otherwise, but Jean will be his father." 

Arthur felt like she'd just dumped a bucket of ice water over him, and for a long minute he struggled with his emotions. Everything she'd said was true, but it still hurt to hear it. He closed his eyes, forced himself to remember what he'd said months ago, how Jean would be a far better father than him for all the reasons she'd listed and more. He could dream all he wanted, about a modest house surrounded by green fields, a flock of chickens and Marie-Annette, his and his alone, but dreaming would not make it truth. Dreaming would never be more than a lie, wished up to show himself what he could never have. "....I understand." 

Marie-Annette sniffled again, quietly. "I do love you, Arthur," she said softly, like she was afraid Arthur wouldn't believe her. 

He sighed, and dared to cross the room to draw her into his arms. It was awkward and a little terrifying, with the swell of her stomach between them, but she wrapped her arms around him in return and laid her head on his shoulder. Arthur rubbed her back gently. "God has a reason for everything that happens, Marianne. I love you, and I will love this child as much as I can, but I promise I will not try and take him from Jean. As if I even could." 

Marie-Annette gave him a tight, thankful little squeeze, and they stayed standing like that for long after their tea had gone cold. 

~*~ 

Arthur could only stay for a week. This time, he really did have contracts, this one for a more detailed map of the land farther south, beyond William's colony. But a week was enough time to soothe some of his worries. The way Jean doted on Marie-Annette, he clearly adored her, and already adored the child growing within her, calling the unborn baby 'lapin' and 'chatton' in turns. It clearly annoyed Marie-Annette to have her child referred to as an animal, but privately Arthur wondered if that was half the reason Jean did it. He did have a mischievous streak of his own, and Arthur noticed that he never did it when it was truly, visibly upsetting Marie-Annette. 

He and Marie-Annette didn't have time to talk again privately before Arthur had to leave, but Arthur thought they were leaving things as well as could be expected for now, and judging from the warm smile she gave him as he left, she seemed to agree. 

He moved south, bypassing the Dutch completely and electing to go directly to the area he was to map. Several weeks went by in quiet routine, moving through the territory filling in rivers and valleys and native villages as he went, his mind only occasionally returning to Marie-Annette and the unborn baby she held. A month, and he was beginning to grow rather more anxious. The map was complete in any case, so he decided to make a brief stop to drop it with William for delivery and then continue north to see Jean and Marie-Annette. 

It was just after sunrise when Arthur entered the Dutch settlement, but already the place was alive with activity. He was surprised to see men hurrying about, expressions serious and anxious. Something was clearly going on, and Arthur grabbed the arm of the nearest man as he hurried by, switching over to his incredibly shaky Dutch. "Where can I find William de Vries?" 

The man gave him an odd look for his accent, but pointed Arthur in the direction of William's tradehouse. It was one of the larger, more permanent buildings in the settlement, two stories tall and the lower walls reinforced with stone mortared against the wood. The lower floor was where William oversaw the settlement and administered trade in the name of the Dutch crown, and the upper floor contained his personal quarters and the rooms where Arthur had spent the last bit of the winter before. When Arthur strode in, William and several of his lieutenants were leaned over a table covered in maps and documents, speaking in hushed, urgent Dutch. Arthur hesitated, suddenly not sure if his intrusion would be welcomed. But when one of the other men nudged William and he looked up, his nod to Arthur was polite and he moved away from the table. "Arthur," 

"What's going on?" Arthur asked, not bothering to switch to Dutch since William's English was far better than his slippery grasp of Dutch anyway. 

"Trouble, maybe," William ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in uneven spikes. "We've gotten word of an attack on a European settlement by the... what do you call it in English, the Five Nations?" 

Arthur's eyes widened, a cold, unsettling lump forming in his stomach. "What? Which one? Why?" 

"Not sure yet. The settlers might have provoked it, usually Iroquois tribes wouldn't venture up that far into Micmac territory without good reason. From what we've heard, most of the men were slaughtered, and the women and the young taken captive. I'm going to try and negotiate their release." 

Arthur swallowed. The Five Nations were allies of the English, and traded with the Dutch. Which left... "They were French." 

William nodded. "One of the Protestant colonies on the island northeast of here." 

"They couldn't even wipe out a Catholic settlement?" Arthur joked weakly, but neither of them smiled, and Arthur couldn’t ignore the way the icy lump was growing in his gut. "William, which village was it, exactly?" 

William gave him a long look, and Arthur got the unsettling feeling the man knew far more than he was letting on. But he said nothing, just led the way over to the maps spread out on the table and pointed. "Here." 

The lump in Arthur's stomach abruptly turned to lead. 

_Marie-Annette and Jean_. 

"William," he hissed, voice tight with urgency, and William's eyebrows rose. "Take me with you. My spoken Iroquois is better than anyone you've got, as far as I know. I can help with the negotiations." 

William crossed his arms, regarding him solemnly for a long moment. "What do you know, Arthur?" 

"Dammit, there's no time-" Arthur hissed, resisted the urge to scream or punch something, he needed to be _calm_. "That's the colony I wintered at last year, and I know at least one of the women is heavily pregnant." 

William gave him another one of those long, _knowing_ looks, but then nodded sharply. "That makes it more urgent." He clapped his hands sharply to call attention, and began issuing orders in clipped Dutch. Arthur hung back beside him, up until the moment William spun to stride out of the room and caught Arthur's shoulder to drag him along. Arthur stumbled to keep up with his longer stride, and wondered off hand if he might be in a little shock. 

Either way, he let William steer him and practically lift him up onto a mount. Arthur hardly remembered the ride; several hours west and then a little north. They didn't dare stop for food at midday, ate hastily packed bread and cheese on horseback. 

They knew when they were getting close, even without the map William was consulting. (Not one of Arthur's; in the midst of everything he was vaguely insulted.) He'd sent two men to ride ahead as scouts, and they returned reporting native sentries ahead. Once the two parties met, the natives were clearly nervous at the sight of a dozen armed white men, and weren't going to let them by. 

Arthur got a grip on himself; it wasn't just Marie-Annette being held, it was all the other women and children too, women he'd given furs to and children he'd made flower crowns and snow rabbits with. They all needed him now. 

He urged his horse up beside William's, spoke up in his much more fluent Iroquois, asking if he and William might be allowed in as long as everyone else stayed at the edge of the village under watch. After some conferring, it was decided this would be allowed, so long as William and Arthur brought no guns. 

William's understanding of Iroquois was good enough to catch the point, and he immediately dismounted and handed his rifle and hunting knife to one of his lieutenants, who looked a bit anxious at their leader going off into danger like this. William was relatively confident of his safety, though, and so was Arthur. The Five Nations were allies, they wouldn't want to risk incurring a war with either of the large white man nations. The Protestant French, on the other hand, were small, and their Catholic countrymen didn't care if they were wiped out. 

As they walked into the village under the guide of the Iroquois scouts, William stepped close to Arthur and murmured, "I'll do the talking, just act as my translator. I _think_ I know the chief of this village, he's relatively new and probably just trying to bolster his claim." 

Arthur nodded, but his stomach was clenching in knots of worry all the way into the village. It was a fairly typical set-up; individual small huts ringed around a sort of central plaza with the communal long house at one end. The guides took them directly to the long house, and they were made to wait. Arthur could hear one of the guides inside, announcing that Dutch and British white men were here to negotiate transfer of the prisoners. 

...Close enough. 

William must have caught the same phrasing, because he gave a very faint snort just before the guide reappeared, bowing to them and then holding open the hide door for them to duck inside. Arthur stood still, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the much dimmer interior, but he needn't have bothered. Almost immediately there was a slight scuff from off to the right, a familiar cry of "Arthur!" 

He whipped around as a murmur went up among the gathered natives, but William's hand clamped down on his shoulder to keep him in place, and despite nearly vibrating in anxiety, Arthur stayed put. 

Still, it was a rush of relief to see Marie-Annette unharmed. She was pale and clearly very shaken, and Arthur spared a thought of worry for the baby, but she seemed physically unhurt. She, as well as all the other women and children with her, corralled at one end of the long house, were all in their night clothes, giving a clue as to how the village had been taken so completely. He did a quick count, squinting in the low light, and then sighed softly. Six women missing, but they were, if he had to guess, the ones who would have refused to leave their husbands. All the girls were here, and the three boys younger than ten, being clutched by their mothers. His stomach clenched when he realized that was all ( _Jean_ ), but that was probably better than he should have hoped for. 

He took a deep breath, went up on his toes to murmur softly to William (he looked more amused than he had any right to as he obligingly ducked down a bit). "That's most of the women, all of the girl children, and the boys under ten." 

William hissed very softly. "The rest are probably dead." 

"I know." Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Marie-Annette shift to try and get comfortable and better support the two little girls (the twins, Charlotte and Annibelle, neither of their parents were here-) clinging to her. There was a flash of blue around her neck, and Arthur was struck by an idea. 

The chief stirred as the commotion settled down. As William had said, he was young, and he looked hard, though Arthur guessed that was probably more from necessity of not showing weakness than anything. "Well? Why have you come before me on my day of triumph?" 

William took a breath, and Arthur beside him was probably the only one who noticed how tense he was. William spoke Dutch, and Arthur forced himself to put Marie-Annette and the others out of his mind so he could focus on translating properly. (If they got through this, he was brushing up on his Dutch, dammit.) 

"We've come to honor you, of course, and congratulate you on your victory over the French. I am Dutch, and my companion translating is British, and our countries hold no love for the French. We commend you on ridding the world of a few more.” 

The chief looked pleased, a smug expression settling on his face, replacing a little of the mistrust when William appealed to an apparent common enemy. “Men from that village came and said they wished to discuss trade, but all they did was speak about their god.” His disdain was clear, and Arthur sent a silent prayer of thanks that neither he nor William wore any overt religious symbols. “They boasted that their god was all-powerful, so I decided to test him. Clearly he was sleeping, like his foolish followers.” 

William swallowed, but kept a straight face, and only Arthur noticed his hesitation in the face of that casual admission of slaughter. “Indeed, a great victory over them and their god. But in fact, there is a bounty out for French captives." Arthur _saw_ the chief sit up straighter, and mentally congratulated William. "Unfortunately, it only applies in Europe, our homelands across the sea, where even your best longboats cannot reach. But we are fair men, so we'll pay the bounty to you now, and then recollect once we can take them home." 

The chief frowned, his eyes wandering over to the huddled group of women. "How do I know you'll pay me the full price?" 

William spread his hands in a hopefully universal gesture of helplessness. "We've always had fair dealings between us before. Isn't something for them better than nothing at all?" 

"We could keep them, my warriors would be rewarded well," the chief said, and Arthur felt a little sick, glad none of the women could speak Iroquois. William looked like he was fighting not to scowl. 

It was now or never. 

Arthur stepped forward and bowed, ignoring the warning glare William shot at his back. "Honorable chief, I must ask you not to do that, because it would break a sacred bond already in place." 

The look the chief shot him was a little irritated, but mostly curious, which Arthur hoped was in his favor. He gestured toward Marie-Annette. "That woman there is already my war bride, carrying my child. I had allowed her to return to the village to visit her family and was on my way to retrieve her when I heard of your great victory. That necklace she wears I received from one of your people, I believe it's a sort of mark of kinship?" 

The chief made a humming noise, looking at the incredibly confused Marie-Annette with renewed interest. Arthur just hoped his bluff worked because he was pretty sure William would strangle him if it didn't (or possibly even if it did). "That necklace is used for betrothals, true. You said she is a war bride?" 

Arthur nodded solemnly. "Most of the women there are, actually, of my British kin far to the south of here. I was serving as an escort for them, but went to see to business with my Dutch ally," he gestured to William. "You said yourself they are heathens, your warriors could find much better wives who will bare much stronger children for you, blessed by your own spirits and not the heathen god. _But_ of course we will still pay the bounty, which is only fair." 

William jabbed him hard in the side where no one could see, and Arthur managed to keep a straight face while the chief thought the offer over. 

"...Very well," he said, finally. "If you can prove that she's actually yours." 

Arthur wondered about that, but dared to step toward the group of frightened women. The chief gestured for their guards to step back a bit, and as one the women all looked to Arthur, eyes wide and pleading. 

"Come here, love," he said, as gently as he could manage, switching to English while holding his hand out to Marie-Annette. "Marianne-" 

She let out a heaving sob and launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and nearly choking him as she held on as tightly as he could. He wrapped his arms around her, murmuring soft reassurances, one hand dropping to rub as soothingly as he could manage over her belly. It seemed to help, but she couldn't seem to stop crying, anger and fear and helplessness and grief pouring out all at once. 

(Arthur would learn, later, that Jean had been executed as the leader of the town, golden scalp taken as a prize. Considered an honorable death among the natives, but a death all the same. Marie-Annette had not actually been there to see him die, which Arthur would forever be quietly grateful for.) 

When Arthur dared look up again, the chief was looking far more tolerable, even smiling a bit as he watched Arthur comfort his 'wife'. William was ushering the other women and children out as quickly as he could while still maintaining politeness, and he gave Arthur a pleading look. If their ruse fell apart it was all over. Arthur pressed a kiss to Marie-Annette's forehead, gently smoothing her hair back as her sobs finally began to quiet. "Now, love, let's go home." 

"Home?" she whispered, clearly shaky. But she chanced a quick glance toward the chief, and she was smart enough, quick enough that she just nodded, bowing her head submissively. As shaky as she was, there wasn't even much acting needed as Arthur carefully led her out of the long house, leaving William to arrange for the 'bounty' payment. 

(Lord, he hoped Marie-Annette never found out about that part of the ruse. He would never hear the end of it.) 

He herded the rest of the French together, very quickly and quietly explained that they were now 'prisoners' of the Dutch and being taken back to the Dutch trading post. All of them were smart, sturdy women, and despite being pale with grief they nodded their understanding and agreement, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. The natives keeping watch were kind enough to bring a stool for Marie-Annette, since she was almost swaying on her feet by this point and Arthur was growing very concerned for the health of the baby. 

But just as he was about to give in and ask if there was a healer or a wise woman about, William emerged from the long house at last. He took one look at Marie-Annette and his stern frown deepened into a scowl. Without a word, he leaned down enough to scoop her up into his arms. She squawked softly in protest, but William shushed her, carrying her back toward the rest of the waiting Dutchmen, Arthur almost running to keep up. 

"We've got to get out of here," William muttered while they had relative privacy at the edge of the village. "You little fool, if they ever find out we lied so outrageously-" 

"They'll do nothing," Arthur offered a wane smile. William shot him a disbelieving look, and he shrugged. "Who would he dare tell? It would involve admitting that a lone Dutchman and Englishman tricked him out of valuable captives in the first place." 

The look on William's face was priceless, and in his arms Marie-Annette gave an exhausted laugh. 

They traveled until they were out of Iroquois territory, but by then it was full dark and they were forced to stop or risk one of the horses breaking a leg. They were already overburdened as it was, the French women and children doubled or sometimes tripled up to ride with the men. Luckily it was still warm enough that them being in their night clothes didn't become too much of an issue. 

One of the women, the twins' aunt, a woman by the name of Catherine, had some little nurse's training, and she was able to tend to Marie-Annette when they stopped. "She'll be okay, I think," she told Arthur softly, though her brow was furrowed in worry. "It's been a terrible shock, but I feel the baby's heartbeat, and she's not begun to bleed. She very badly needs to rest." 

Arthur nodded, unable to keep the worry off his own face. "I know. Thank you." 

Catherine paused, hovering by his elbow, then reached out and gave his hand a very gentle squeeze. "Jean-Louis would be glad to know you're taking care of them, Arthur." 

To his own surprise, Arthur found himself fighting back tears, and he could only nod. 

A few minutes later, he took a cup of tea over to Marie-Annette and slowly lowered himself down to sit beside her, not wanting to startle her or impose if she didn't want the company. But she immediately shifted over to curl against his side, and she took the cup when he offered it. "Merci, Arthur." 

Her voice was soft and whispery, still in shock, and Arthur knew she was thanking him for more than just the tea. He settled, wrapped his arms around her, and hung on for the rest of the night. 

They were able to make it back to the Dutch settlement the next day. The men of the trade post and the small town that had grown up around it were remarkably welcoming and sympathetic, helping the French refugees find places to stay and extra clothes to wear. Luckily, being a trading post there was a decent supply on hand, even if it wasn't quite what they were used to. 

That night, the Dutch Calvinist priest held a service, offering thanks for the safe return of the women and honoring the bravery and sacrifice of those that had given their lives. He also offered prayers for the health of their children, in particular Marie-Annette's unborn baby. She blushed in her place beside Arthur, and he gave her hand a tight squeeze. After the service, William stood and addressed the French women, promising that they would not be turned away, and that they would be protected. 

"Thank you," Marie-Annette glanced at her companions, then stood to face William, de facto leader. "You've done so much for us already..." 

William took her hand, bowed low enough that she blushed again. "We couldn't leave you there, we only did what was necessary." 

~*~ 

The next week was a busy one. William sent a messenger by fast horse to warn the other French colonies that attacks might be imminent, but nothing ever came from them. William suspected that men from Jean’s village really had just insulted the chief’s gods and he’d decided to enact his revenge. (Arthur could even guess which ones, some of the younger men so full of fervor and lacking in so much common sense.) They sent a party to salvage what they could from the abandoned town, returned with a decent amount of their clothes, tools, and even some of the furniture. The Iroquois had apparently been less interested in looting the town than in making sure the heathen god was punished. With their sister towns apparently safe, Arthur began to help with arrangements for the remaining women and children to be disbursed between them, helping them find friends and distant relatives to stay with and get settled in. He felt a strange sort of duty, like he owed it to Jean and the other men he’d called his friends to make sure their kin were taken care of. 

Some of the women, when they heard that Marie-Annette had decided to stay at the Dutch trade post with him, gave him very canny, knowing looks. But to Arthur’s eternal bafflement, none of them ever said a word, never called either of them out on the affair or questioned the parentage of Marie-Annette’s child. If they confronted Marie-Annette about anything, she never told him about it. The closest any of them ever came was Catherine’s comment on the night of the attack. 

Little Charlotte was the only one to say something, the night before she and her sister were going to leave with their aunt to travel north to one of the other colonies. She and Arthur were sitting outside, watching the sun go down while they helped shell peas for dinner. 

“Are you going to marry Marie-Annette?” Charlotte asked out of the blue, and Arthur nearly choked on the breath of air he’d just taken. Charlotte dropped her handful of peas neatly into the pot between them and looked up at Arthur with her big, solemn blue eyes. (She and her sister had grown up so much since the attack, they hadn’t had a choice.) “Tante Catherine says the people who are gone live with God now, my maman and papa, and Jean-Louis too. Marie-Annette is going to need help to take care of the baby.” 

Arthur swallowed around a lump in his throat and reached out to ruffle her hair, trying for a light tone. “Maybe you and Annibelle should stay and help.” 

She just giggled and shook her head, nearly spilling the pea pods she had gathered in her skirts. But she wouldn’t be dissuaded and gave Arthur the sternest look she could manage. “We have to take care of Tante Catherine. It’s your job to take care of Marie-Annette.” 

It was almost funny, in a terrible sort of way, how much that echoed his own thoughts. _You got yourself into this mess, Arthur_. But no, it had taken the both of them, he and Marie-Annette together, and now they were both being punished for their sins. 

“I will, Charlotte,” he murmured, turning his attention back to the dinner preparations. “I promise.” 

It was three days after that when Marie-Annette nearly dropped her spoon at dinner, sat straight up and exclaimed “The _ship!_ ” 

William and Arthur both gave her baffled looks until Arthur realized what she meant, and his own eyes widened. The Dutch men had seen it and reported it during their scavenging trip back to the ruined settlement, but no one had taken notice because there were too many other things to think about at the time. Jean’s _North Wind_ was still anchored just off the coast, intact and untouched, silent memorial to her captain’s passing. 

William looked very thoughtful when they explained this to him, rubbing at the slight scar on his temple as he always did when he was thinking about a new idea. “I’m not sure how French law works, do his possessions go to you upon his death, or…?” 

Marie-Annette swallowed, and Arthur found her hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. She seemed to draw strength from that, at least. “I… actually, I do not know. I never had a reason to look.” She took a deep breath, visibly steadied herself, her other hand absently going to her belly. “But even if they do not pass to me, I could be carrying a son.” 

William nodded again, lips starting to curl in a slow smile, and Arthur gave him a sharp look across the table. “You’d better not be plotting anything, de Vries.” 

“Nothing nefarious!” William insisted, expression clearing a little with a laugh in the face of Arthur’s suspicion. “I doubt either of you have any plans to go off to sea anytime soon, but I can always use more trade ships. I could lease it from you, and that would give you a little income, at least.” 

Arthur stared at him, not sure what to say in the face of the offer, but Marie-Annette had no such qualms. She sat up straighter, staring William down, her eyes suddenly sharp. “Non, it would not be a _little_ income, because you would be giving us fair trade price, as well as a percent of the profits of the cargo.” 

William gave her a surprised look for jumping into the negotiations, but then his eyes narrowed. “I’ll pay the leasing fees, but why should I give you a percentage of the profits? I already pay a tithe to the crown.” 

“Because some of the cargos you carry could pose a risk to the ship, either through the nature of the cargo itself or threat of piracy.” 

William adopted an offended expression, but the way his eyes shone betrayed that he was enjoying bartering with her. Arthur, unnoticed, rolled his eyes. _Dutch_. “If that’s what you’re worried about, we can set a premium on the leasing price that would kick into effect when the cargo is particularly risky.” 

Marie-Annette just snorted, reaching across the table to poke William in the shoulder. “And who would decide what risky means? I have no desire to constantly re-evaluate prices every time you decide to send her out.” 

“And _then_ ,” William put his hands on the table, leaning forward a little. His eyes were sharp and hungry at the prospect of profits, but he looked like he was also having the time of his life. For that matter, so did Marie-Annette, her smile just as sharp and unforgiving. “There’s the matter of having to send _my_ men to sail the ship back here-“ 

Marie-Annette took a deep breath, drawing herself up and preparing to begin the argument anew, and Arthur decided it was a prudent time to flee. 

~*~ 

In the following weeks, Arthur and Marie-Annette were rarely apart. The Dutch doctor had examined her and pronounced that the baby was healthy and she would recover from the stress, but she needed to rest as much as possible. Marie-Annette was disgruntled at the restriction, which prompted Arthur to promise to stay with her. William had given them the guest rooms that Arthur had stayed in the previous winter, upstairs in the main administrative building beside his own rooms. Marie-Annette finally agreed to rest when the doctor pointed out that further stress could seriously harm the baby. Arthur sat with her, reading or working on embroidery. 

(She had enough energy to tease him about that, until William pointed out again that fine embroidery would fetch high prices in the Old World. After that, she asked for, and William provided, a sewing basket of her own.) 

In the early morning of a bright, crisp fall day, Marie-Annette went into labour. Arthur left her only long enough to fetch the doctor, then returned, perching on the bed beside her and clasping her hand. As trying as the pregnancy had been, the labour itself went easily and the doctor said it went quickly, though Arthur had no frame of reference at all and his concentration was mostly on the fact that Marie-Annette was slowly crushing his hand, one knuckle at a time. 

Jean-Mathieu Bonnefoy was born in the midafternoon, with the sun shining and the trading post bustling along below them, loud voices and laughter nearly masked by the baby's first cries. The window was open, and even as awed as he was by the tiny miracle before him, Arthur could hear a cheer go up as his cries were heard and the news passed on. 

"Is he...? Marie-Annette gave an exhausted murmur, half in French. The doctor offered her a reassuring smile, wrapping the baby in a snug blanket embroidered along the edges with tiny bears and clusters of berries (the bears were Arthur’s work, the plants Marie-Annette’s) before offering him to Arthur. He took the baby carefully and sank down to sit beside Marie-Annette so she could see too; the scrunched little face and wisps of pale hair, one tiny fist working out from under the blanket to wave at them. He gave another little whining cry, and Marie-Annette laughed tiredly. "He is hungry, give him here." 

"Mm," Arthur leaned down enough to press a kiss to the baby's hair, then passed him carefully to his mother. As he watched Marie-Annette feeding tiny Mathieu, he made a silent promise to Jean that he would do his best to make Marie-Annette happy, and to protect Jean's son. It was the least he could do. Sensing his gaze, Marie-Annette looked up, and smiled softly. "He's beautiful." 

“He doesn’t have my eyebrows,” Arthur nodded, suddenly feeling choked up. "Jean would be proud." 

Her eyes darkened in sadness, but she took a deep breath, looked down at the baby in her arms, and managed a watery smile. "He would. He would be so happy..." 

Arthur reached out, put a hand on her shoulder. "I know I can't offer you everything he did, but..." 

Marie-Annette shook her head sharply, held up a hand to stop him and then cupped the same hand around his cheek. "Arthur, I was a fool saying the things I did. Jean... Jean was _wonderful_ , and I never got to tell him..." A tear slipped down her cheek, and she hurriedly wiped it away. Even with Mathieu in her arms, warm and heavy with sleep, a deep cold void opened in her chest every time she thought of Jean, sucking her down until she felt like she was drowning. She could only clutch at her baby tighter, cling to Arthur’s hand and force herself to keep stepping forward, praying that God would heal her in time. "Love is what truly matters, and I do love you." 

“I love you too." Arthur settled closer, slipped his arm around her back to hold her. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and together they watched as Mathieu finished his first meal, eyelids drooping drowsily. “You should rest,” he murmured softly, pressing a kiss against her hair. She nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted beyond all reason, and let Arthur take Mathieu from her. 

As she began to drift off, someone out in the courtyard began to sing in Dutch, and she recognized the melody as Psalm 8 as other voices picked it up, singing in celebration for Mathieu’s safe birth and God’s blessings and protections. 

“I’ll be right here when you wake up.” 

Masked by the singing from outside and sliding down into the welcoming velvet of sleep, Marie-Annette couldn’t tell if the quiet voice she heard was Arthur’s or Jean’s, but she fell asleep with her hand curled in the fabric of Arthur’s trousers and a soft smile on her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Charlotte and her sister Annibelle were sorta supposed to be Fem!Canada and Fem!America, but it doesn't particularly make a difference. :p Their aunt Catherine is no one special, just an OC.


End file.
